28 | “You’re still mad?” 43 | “Frost the damn cupcakes.”
who knew drinking the rest of the milk would lead to such an epidemic
words: 1200 genre: pure sickly sweet fluff
The glare being delivered to you from the other side of the counter was so heated you wouldn’t be surprised if you received third-degree burns. The apples of your cheeks were flushed a deep rosy pink as the man holding a spatula and the deepest frown you had ever seen, staring at you so intensely you could feel shame seeping through your bones.
“Jun,” you whined with a pout, stretching your arms over the countertop until your fingers reached out to pull on the end of the spatula. “You’re still mad?”
His eyes shifted from you only to roll around his head, a snarl on his lips as he jerked his hand from your grabby fingers, letting the spatula fall into the bowl of batter before he turned toward the plastic bags on the kitchen table. As much as you hated how astonishingly petty he was being, you deserved the cold shoulder he had been delivering you ever since he opened the fridge to find the last and key ingredient to his cupcakes, missing.
For nearly twenty minutes you had spewed to him about why you drank the last of the milk, apologizing profusely and arguing that there was no way you would have known he was going to be baking. However, at the sight of a half full glass of lukewarm milk sitting idly on a coaster in the living room, he lost it. The oven mitts tucked over his fingers were tossed over the granite counter, arms thrown into the air as he exclaimed his retirement from the baking community.